


Whisper

by pat_t



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pat_t/pseuds/pat_t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Methos is taken, Duncan goes looking</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whisper

**Author's Note:**

> Adult content for male/male slash, language, violence, DM/M, written for the 'Sleeping With Men' Challenge

The door shut behind me with a clang, the jingle from its Christmas bells vying for attention against the freezing wind whistling against the bricks outside. I pulled my collar up around my ears and hunched deep into the woolen folds of my coat. All around me Christmas lights were blinking their holiday messages from various storefronts, belying the miserable Seacouver weather as rain and ice spit down at me from the darkening sky.

Brightly colored lights were flashing, with Christmas carols leaking from various doorways as shoppers entered and exited the many shops. I took a moment to stand still and survey my surroundings before pushing my way through the throng of Christmas shoppers bustling through the string of shops lining the narrow downtown street. I shivered and looked up towards the sky, grimacing when the wind and ice stung my face.

Above me, the sky was darkening to an almost starless sea of black. With a mental shove, I hunched against the elements and prodded ahead towards my Range Rover and the wondrous blessing of heat.

Why the fuck did I stay in this cold and dreary town anyway?

My fingers wrapped around the small box shoved down deep in my coat pocket. I grinned. Oh yeah. Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. My lover. The one force that even I could not overcome. Could not? Or would not?

It had been difficult at first, our path together as friends. I thought it was over after the O'Rourke fiasco. Duncan was reevaluating his life and relationships. I was sure our friendship was going to be set aside like a tired and well-used trinket. Much appreciated, but worn out and abandoned, as MacLeod forged ahead to find new meaning in his life.

What I hadn't realized was that part of his journey was a reexamination of his relationships, and what they meant in his life. It's probably a good thing that I hadn't known, actually. Because if I had, I would have tried to control the situation. I can't help it. It's in my nature to take control, to try and manipulate situations to my own advantage. It's one of the ways I've survived for as long as I have. I'm not ashamed to admit it. It's not like Duncan MacLeod doesn't have his own control issues.

Then one day out of the blue, he had shown up at my flat, his powerful presence wrapping around me like an old friend, warming parts of me I thought permanently etched in ice. I found out that he'd spent his time alone, meditating and contemplating his place in the world. And his loved ones' place in his life.

Loved ones? Jesus, MacLeod. I had to pinch myself when he told me that I was included in that group. I think I pinched him too, just to make sure he was real and not part of a dream. He just laughed at me and what a sound that was to my ears. When he told me he was in love with me and wanted a relationship that extended past our former boundaries of friendship, I was speechless. Probably a good thing, actually. I couldn't say something stupid if my power of speech was disabled.

It was the look that did it, you know. That puppy dog look--the big brown eyes--the pout. My heart melted, and along with it my ability to reason. I threw it all away then: my fears, my doubts, all the past hurts and memories. I took what he offered me freely and without reservation. Thank God I did. That was a decade ago and I've never looked back or regretted my decision.

The real reason for my anxiety centered around the two rings sheltered in the velvet lined box in my coat pocket. What the hell I was thinking? We were happy. Hell, more than happy. But Duncan had never insinuated that he wanted anything more from our relationship. I was taking a gamble and I knew it. What if he didn't want more? These two golden rings could initiate the end to one of the most important relationships of my five thousand years.

Fuck. I gritted my teeth against the cold. Between my nerves and the weather I was in dire need of a hot shower, a strong drink and some hard loving. Not necessarily in that order.

Someone pushed up against me and I scowled back at him. Bloody prick. Watch where you're going. My thigh began to sting, and I pulled a gloved hand from inside my coat to rub against the area while digging into my jeans pocket with my other hand to fish for my keys. My truck was right in front of me. I pushed the unlock button on my remote, relieved when the lights blinked to signal it was now unlocked.

I reached for the door handle, then stilled when a sudden wave of dizziness washed over me. My head was swimming and I had a surge of nausea. Something in the back of my mind nudged me, and I realized that my thigh was now throbbing as warmth spread out across my skin.

I grasped the door handle and yanked hard, certain that once I got inside and locked the door, whatever this was would pass quickly and I could be on my way home. I suspected that I'd been drugged, probably by someone with the intention of robbing me. It was just five days before Christmas, I reasoned, and it wasn't unusual for the light fingered among us to help themselves to distracted shoppers.

My Ivanhoe was a dependable deterrent, secured in the special lining of my coat, and I had no doubt I could protect myself against any would-be thief. Just let the weasel get brave enough to approach me. He'd be in for one hell of a surprise. A sharp pain suddenly gripped my gut. I gritted my teeth, my former bravado already abandoned, as I began to spew a deluge of mindless curses into the air.

Unable to open the door to slide into the relative safety of the front seat, I pulled at the door handle again, gasping as a fresh surge of dizziness washed over me. The door was frozen solid to the frame and I could not budge it. My extremities were beginning to feel weak and rubbery and I weaved unsteadily, vaguely aware of the solid form of someone behind me as I started to fall. Warm arms wrapped around my torso and the world went black.

****

**~~~~~~**

I poured myself a Scotch and paced around the kitchen while doing a mental check of my dinner preparations. Everything was ready. I had already turned the oven down to low in order to keep the main entree warm; the rolls were in the pan and ready to bake, and the wine was open on the kitchen counter. All I needed now was my dinner companion, and where the hell was he anyway?

I pulled out my pocket watch and noted the time. I was amused when I listened to his message on my voicemail, stating he had something urgent to take care of after work. After all, tomorrow was my birthday and Christmas was at the end of the week. And despite my lover's noisy proclamations to the contrary, he always seemed to enjoy the extensive preparations he made toward both those events.

But that was hours ago, and my amusement had quickly turned to irritation, which was now ebbing into a disquieting worry. I contemplated calling Joe on the off-chance that Methos had dropped by the bar once he finished his errands. Especially if he was tired from fighting the crowds and needed a drink and some down time before coming home. Of course, if he had, knowing that I was waiting and worrying about his sorry ass, I might have to kill him.

I sipped at my drink and moved into the den. The Christmas tree stood in the corner, fully decorated with brightly colored lights and tinsel. Mr. Scrooge had even decorated the fireplace mantle with red and gold garland, along with two large red stockings dangling from decorative Santa holders.

"You're such a phony, Methos," I thought to myself fondly.

Unfortunately, that only brought back my fear in full force. Somehow, when it came to Methos I could always sense when something was terribly wrong. I'm pretty sure he had the same intuitive sense about my safety as well, although we've never discussed it. Was it due to the double quickening we shared over a decade ago in Bordeaux? Possibly. Probably. 

With one last glance at my watch, I gave into my worry and reached for my phone.

****

**~~~~~~**

I was shivering when I woke, lying naked on a cold hard floor, with the sound of rain and strong winds hitting against a windowpane above me. I opened my eyes slowly, still fighting against dizziness and nausea as I attempted to sit up. I was lying on concrete in a small barren room. A single bald light bulb hung suspended from the ceiling, casting shadows across the bleak, musty walls. The room was completely devoid of furniture, a heavy metal door its only exit, save one window much too small for my needs, even if I could reach it. If I were to venture a guess, I'd say I was in some type of warehouse, probably in the basement. There was no handle on the inside of the door, not that it mattered as I was sure the bloody thing was securely locked.

The lack of Immortal presence was not encouraging. Especially since the only mortals who knew about us were the Watchers. This did not fare well for my continued survival. The only thing that gave me any small measure of comfort was the fact that an overhead heating duct was blowing out lukewarm air, keeping me from freezing to death.

I had no doubt the temperature outside had fallen well below freezing by now. At least whoever had taken me didn't want me dead right away. Otherwise, why bother? Just let me freeze and take my head. Now wasn't that a cheery thought?

I'm not sure how long I'd been there. Time was relative. The lukewarm air, which was rapidly becoming cooler, was little consolation as I paced around the small room. Occasionally, I would huddle in a corner, my arms wrapping around myself for both comfort and warmth, only to become quickly agitated and coerced into movement once again by my own restlessness.

I shouldn't have been surprised when Immortal presence slithered down my spine. It was a bitter essence, biting and hard, as it enveloped me. I heard a noise, metal against metal, and the door was slowly opening. I huddled against the far wall, watching carefully, waiting to see who would enter. A stranger? Or an enemy?

He was unknown to me, a tall black man, easily three inches taller than myself. He had a moderate build, neither large nor lean. His hair was cropped close to his scalp, making his facial features stand out sharply in the muted light. His eyes were small and dark, glistening out from under thick lids. His nose was broad, a contrast to the sharp contours of his cheekbones and fleshy lips. At the moment, he was regarding me with a nasty sneer. 

"Well, you are awake. I thought you should be." His voice was thickly accented with the melodic, rich tones that I've come to associate with the Caribbean Islands.

I narrowed my eyes and studied him. "And you would be?" I asked, hardening my voice to reflect a boldness that was utterly pointless. I'm sure the effect was ruined when my teeth started chattering. The bastard had turned off the heat.

He laughed in reply. "Cold, Mr. Pierson? Ah, yes. I'm afraid that your accommodations lack the usual amenities you're accustomed to. Unfortunately, it cannot be helped at this time."

I stared back at him coldly and mentally cursed him to bloody get on with it.

"My name is really quite unimportant. It will make no difference to your outcome, Mr. Pierson. However, since it seems to be a necessity to you ...." He shrugged and looked around the room. "I guess it's the least I can do. My name is Patrick Annoseke."

"Never heard of you," I informed him while I eased down to the floor and wrapped my arms around myself for warmth.

"Ah yes. Well no reason why you should. You see, ever since I've had the good fortune to become immortal, I've had the sense to stay, let's just say, secluded. Trust me, I have no illusions as to my ability to stay in the Game if I go up against some of the leading contenders. So I've had to compensate with my wits, and I've found it to be much easier once my opponents have been brought down to a more equitable level."

"You bastard!" I snapped at him through chattering teeth while attempting to level him with my most intimidating glare. I was getting awfully bold for a guy sitting on a concrete floor with his balls freezing off.

I didn't get quite the reaction I was aiming for since he only continued to laugh. "Well, yes. We all are, aren't we, Mr. Pierson? But it has been difficult. It hasn't been easy trapping other immortals. It's only been recently that I've met my lovely mortal companion who's been so graciously amenable to my plight."

"The mortal that drugged me," I muttered under my breath. I should have known. I never used to be so careless!

"Of course, I came to Seacouver with the intention of capturing one of the most powerful immortals in the Game. But, I guess you could say my better judgment prevailed, and I decided to wait until a more opportune occasion arose. And now it has."

I looked up at him sharply. MacLeod! This bastard had come to Seacouver to kidnap Duncan. He seemed to read my thoughts, and I tensed in anger at the arrogant smirk that appeared on his face.

"I see. It's all coming together for you now. Yes, Duncan MacLeod. Your lover. I was very surprised when I first felt your presence and realized you were immortal as well. I was following from a distance and I couldn't be sure. Once I was certain, and realized that I had never heard of you, I knew I finally had my opportunity. My assistant followed you for days. I knew if we could capture you first and wear down MacLeod, it would make it much easier and less risky for us to capture him later...." He shrugged as if the rest of his plan went without saying.

I guess it did.

He walked to the solid metal door. It appeared that I was being dismissed. I shouldn't have been surprised when he turned back to face me instead of leaving. Egotistical maniacs always have to put in a parting shot. They can't help themselves. I know only too well from my own time with Kronos. And, this asshole had nothing on Kronos -- or myself for that matter --. _What goes around comes around._ If I knew who came up with that phrase, I'd kill the bastard. 

"I will not freeze you to death, Mr. Pierson. The heat will be turned on periodically. You will not be given sustenance, however. Once I feel that you're suitably weakened, I will give you your sword and we will fight. It will be interesting to see how well your body responds."

"And MacLeod?" I asked him angrily.

"MacLeod will start looking for you. We'll wait a few days. Let him worry a bit and wear him down. Then I'll call him on your cell phone and let him know where to find you."

"You're one sick son of a bitch," I spat at him accusingly.

"Of course." He shrugged again as if it bore no importance. "In case you're wondering, he's already started looking for you. He's left multiple messages on your cell. Poor fellow. Actually sounded quite angry with you at first. Now he just sounds, let's just say, deeply concerned." He smiled then and left the room, closing the door with a hard clang behind him.

Soon time was slipping away from me in seamless chunks. True to his word, the heat was turned back on, barely warm, yet keeping me from a frozen death. He brought me a chamber pot, a small amenity, but gratefully accepted. He was even keeping it emptied in a timely manner which was becoming less of a necessity as my body worked to conserve its water and protein stores.

I don't know how long it had been since I had eaten. My mouth was dry, my lips parched. I would have done almost anything for a drink of water. My worry over my own life was only rivaled by my fear for my lover. Annoseke had not mentioned Duncan again, which only served to ratchet up my worry even more.

I found myself slipping off into fitful periods of sleep, only to wake up shivering and nauseated. There were dreadful bouts of gagging, extracting nothing but bile until dry heaves racked my body with my empty gut, leaving me shaking in pain and weaker than before. The bastard knew what he was doing all right. If he had given me my sword right then, I'm sure I couldn't have beaten him.

I spent most of my time thinking about Duncan. Even when I was asleep, he would come to me. Duncan ....

**~*~*~**

I pushed open the door to the gym and stepped inside. Work had been a bitch and the strum of Duncan's presence was wrapping around me like a lover's caress, vibrant and strong, yet gentle and tender at the same time. Just like the man himself.

We had discovered early on in our relationship that we needed a larger place to coexist. My flat and his loft were just not large enough for two grown men who were used to their own space. After much discussion and compromise, we agreed to build a home together on the outskirts of town. In the unlikely case that something happened to our relationship, we had an option to either buy out to the other or put it up for sale and split the proceeds.

One of the things Duncan had insisted on when we drew up the plans was a personal gym. He designed it to stand alone, connected to the main structure by a covered walkway. It was large and airy, with hardwood floors and plenty of room for his equipment and an area for him to work out. He made sure there was a seating area for me with a table and chairs and a small refrigerator for juices and water. If he minded when a few beers took up residence, he never mentioned it.

We sparred together often, but tonight I wasn't in the mood and I was more than content to watch my lover as he worked out.

Joe's car was parked outside so I wasn't surprised when I found him propped up against the wall watching Duncan doing his kata. He acknowledged my presence with a nod of his head and followed me into the seating area. I pulled off my coat and draped it across a chair, then liberated two beers from the fridge.

Neither of us spoke as we watched the man in the next room. I leaned back in my chair and allowed myself to get lost in the moment.

I found my mind wandering, watching him, his grace and strength, his control as he turned, his sword glistening as it caught a ray of sunlight cast through the window. He was easily one of the most beautiful people I had ever known.

I still remember the first time we met. Everything about that moment has been etched in my mind like fine marble. I can still hear the door opening, the sound of his footsteps on the stairs leading down to my living area, the music from my walkman a pretentious distraction from the heavy beating of my own heart and the blood rushing in my ears.

His immortal presence was powerful, sending adrenaline coursing through my veins, pushing my entire system into a sympathetic response. Flight or fight, and I was becoming damp with sweat as my pulse sped up and began to race.

His voice was deep and tentative, as he spoke my name.

It took all my control to turn, remove my headphones and look at him without showing any emotion. He was so damn beautiful. And when he said my name -- he knew me -- I felt my entire reality shift.

I watched him now, the sweat glistening on silky skin, his well-defined muscles rippling as he turned, bringing his katana down in an arc. My pants were becoming much too tight as my cock responded to the sight of him: his strength, his skill, his power.

He completed his kata, turned towards the seating area and graced me with a smile. Joe cleared his throat beside me and I started. I had forgotten he was there. Duncan was walking towards us, his gaze pointedly at my crotch and the bulge straining against the inside of my jeans. I turned and leveled Joe with a glare, daring him to say anything about my state.

"Joe." Duncan greeted his Watcher, and turned to me. "Hi, old man." He leaned in and kissed me, careful not to press his sweaty body against mine. Or maybe he was afraid that if we fully connected I wouldn't be able to contain myself, and drag him down to the floor, taking him right then and there in front of Joe. It was certainly a possibility.

"Hi, Mac. Listen, I just stopped by to see what was new with you guys. But I need to get back to the bar so I'll catch you later, okay?" Joe pushed up from his chair, using his walking cane for support as he righted himself.

Duncan glanced at me uncertainly, then turned back to Joe. "Sure, Joe. If you're sure you don't need anything."

"Nah." Joe smiled knowingly. "Besides, I think Adam wants your attention. Come by the bar later and have a drink."

"Yeah. I'll do that. Bye, Joe." Duncan was flushed. From his workout or embarrassment, I wasn't sure, but I really didn't care. He was mine to take and I needed him. Now.

"Bye, Joe." I waved him out the door. Damn if I would feel embarrassed.

Joe had no sooner walked out when I grabbed Duncan and took his mouth in a hungry kiss. And that's what I was. Hungry. Famished for his mouth -- the clean taste of him -- sweet from his toothpaste, yet warm and tangy at the same time. He kissed me back, deeply, his tongue slipping into my mouth to slide against my own.

I pressed full length against him, uncaring of his perspiration as the heat of him seared me through my clothing. I breathed in deeply through my nose, as my mouth was otherwise occupied, too engrossed in the taste and feel of his lips and tongue to be bothered with anything as unimportant as air.

He smelled strong, his musky arousal blending with the heady spice of his aftershave, and mixing with the pungent odor left on his skin from his workout. It was making me drunk with need as my mouth left his lips and slid to his neck. I licked at the skin there, tasted the salt, and shivered when he moaned, sending a vibration against my tongue. I sucked on his tender skin, leaving a purplish bruise, before moving downward towards his chest.

His shirt was damp under my hands as I lifted it upwards to bring it over his head. He was tugging at my own clothes, but I was too intent on the taste of his skin to pull away and help him.

It wasn't long before I had hard muscle, smooth skin and silky chest hair under my hands. There is just something so incredibly sexy about a man's chest. Hard instead of soft, the muscles rippling under my knowing fingers as I stroked and pinched. The hard little buds of his nipples as my mouth covered first one, then the other, my tongue darting out to stroke and tease.

Duncan was writhing under my touch, his deep moans feeding my lust. The man gives himself up to pleasure with complete abandon. His hands weren't idle while I feasted on his torso. He had managed to pull my sweater over my head and was now caressing my own chest with his large, strong hands.

I felt as if I were on fire, my passion was so inflamed. To feel this strength at my fingertips, to be able to hold it, to bring it to my will. To feel Duncan taking my own strength under his hands, and knowing that I gave it over willingly, was such a turn on.

With Duncan it was never about submission. It was about sharing, taking and giving equally in a way I could never do with anyone else. To have an immortal man this strong in my bed, giving to me his passion, the surrender of his body, the sharing of his hunger.

My cock was throbbing almost painfully in my jeans by the time he reached for me and pulled me back up to his mouth. He held me tightly in his arms and pressed his weight against me until I was pushed backwards against the table.

He began to stroke my chest with one hand while the other reached for my zipper. Strong fingers twisted at my sensitive nipple as his hand reached inside my jeans and found my sex. He cupped me in his palm and squeezed, his talented fingers knowing just how to touch me, how I needed to be stroked.

The pleasure was almost too much and all coherent thought was leaving my head. My whole world was centered on the throbbing swollen flesh between my legs, the feel of his hands stroking me, the pressure building as I thrust my hips and drove my cock into his strong grasp.

His mouth was on mine again and I was vaguely aware that we were panting into each other's mouth as our tongues stroked together. My balls were tightening as the pressure increased, and I felt fluid seep from my cock, only to be stroked away with a caress of his thumb.

It was too much and not enough. I needed more. I needed to taste him, to have his body under my hands, my lips. Feel all that power under my control, feel him lose himself to his passions and know I was the one that brought him there.

It took all the willpower I had left, as little as that was, and I pushed him away. "No, Duncan," I panted at him when he reached for me again. "I need ...."

"What? What do you need?" His voice was rough from an almost desperate arousal as he reached for me again.

"This." I flicked my tongue across his lips and dropped to my knees. In one quick movement, I unzipped his pants and yanked them down. He quickly stepped out of them and kicked them away.

 _Oh God._ I closed my eyes and breathed in the musky scent of him. I felt his cock tap against my chin and I opened my eyes and looked up.

"Oh, God." This time I said the words out loud. Fuck. The sight of him: his head thrown back, his eyes closed, his swollen mouth open and panting, his muscled chest heaving as he gasped his need. His sex was dark and throbbing, fluid leaking from its slit. I flicked out my tongue and licked away the salty drops, then once again closed my eyes before taking him into my mouth.

My entire world was narrowed to the feel of his silky hardness in my mouth, the salty, slightly bitter taste on my tongue, the strong scent of his maleness assaulting my nostrils. I reached out and grasped his hips and held on tightly. He was thrusting into my mouth and I let him. Hell, I wanted him to. Needed him to. Needed to let him take me, to feel the length of him slide in-between my lips and across my tongue.

His hand was on the back of my head, holding me in place while he fucked my mouth. My own cock was pulsing dangerously in my open pants as his thrusts increased in strength and speed. His cock head hit the back of my throat and my own cock jerked and throbbed. Again and again, and he was tensing, his fingers entwined in my short hair, pulling almost too tightly as I felt his buttocks tense and hold.

He was shooting his come down my throat and my balls tightened almost unbearably. I swallowed, felt the bitter taste spread across my tongue and down my throat while my cock pulsed under the heavy denim of my jeans.

He slipped from my mouth and pulled at me to stand so he could take me in his arms. My legs were shaky and sore as I pushed myself up, holding onto him for support. He no sooner had his arms around me before a hand slipped inside my open fly and down my briefs. His hand wrapped around my sex, owning me in a way no one else knew how to, and I exploded. Powerful contractions ripped through me and I spurted out my release, shooting thick hot semen across his hand. He continued to pump me and I cried out as the utter ecstasy of it shook me to my core, leaving me heaving and weak in his arms.

**~*~*~**

I woke up on the cold concrete, my body curled into a fetal ball to conserve energy and heat. It wasn't working. I was shivering as my mind tried to reconcile reality with the heat from my memories.

****

**~~~~~~**

I sat up abruptly, sweating, my legs tangled up in my bed sheets. It was another fitful night. Alone. I was becoming more worried and frightened for my lover every day. The only consolation was that there was no way his quickening would go unnoticed -- unless his quickening had been lost. Like Darius, my mind supplied. I pushed the thought away almost immediately. It was inconceivable to me that Methos had survived over five thousand years, only to have his quickening lost to Hunters.

No, my sarcastic, handsome lover was out there somewhere. In trouble, most likely. Pissed off, most certainly. I just had to find him. Which brought my mind back to the present and the nerve jarring noise that had woken me in the first place.

I yanked the damp sheets from around my legs and reached for the phone. Methos? I didn't dare to hope, so painful was the disappointment when it burned in my gut afterward.

"MacLeod," I answered tiredly.

"Mac. We found his truck."

"Where?" I barely managed to let him get the words out before I interrupted. I was suddenly very awake, my body and mind surging to attention from his news.

"Downtown in the parking area of one of the strip malls by the docks. We did a little discreet snooping and found out that he was at a jewelry store the night he disappeared."

My mind was working furiously from what he was telling me. "A jewelry store? Are you sure, Joe? Methos doesn't wear jewelry."

"MacLeod. What day did he disappear?" Joe sounded mildly exasperated and I sighed into the phone as I thought.

"You know what night, Joe. December 20."

"Right. The day before your birthday. Five days before Christmas."

"Joe." I laughed nervously. "Trying to tell me something? What did he buy? You do know, don't you? After all, the bloody Watchers know everything, don't they?"

I knew I wasn't being fair to Joe, but I was suddenly extremely irritated that they did know so much about our lives. Everything except what I _needed_ them to know, that is. Like where the fuck my lover was.

"It's not important, Mac. It won't tell you anything about what happened to him."

Now I was intrigued as well as irritated. "If you know something, Dawson, you'd better tell me. I'm not in the mood for games. You let me decide if it's important."

He knew when I called him by his surname that I was nearing the end of my patience. I heard him sigh deeply and curse under his breath. I smiled, knowing that I had already won this round.

"Come on, Joe. Give."

"All right, MacLeod. But, you just remember when the old bastard gets back that you forced me."

That sobered me. "Just make sure he gets back, Joe. Why was he at the jewelry store?"

"Fuck. He bought two wedding bands. Had them personally engraved. Okay?"

I was suddenly speechless. Wedding bands?

"Mac?" Joe's concerned voice pulled me out of my thoughts and back to our present problem. Where was Methos?

"Yeah, I'm here, Joe. Thanks for telling me. Do you have anything else?"

"Maybe. We're not sure yet, but it looks like a new immortal has just arrived in town. Patrick Annoseke. Ever heard of him?"

I thought hard. "No."

I could almost hear his shrug over the phone. "There's no reason why you should. He's a fairly new immortal, and for the most part he stays out of the Game as far as I can tell. I'm waiting to get hold of his Watcher though. I'll let you know as soon as I do."

"All right. Thanks, Joe. Listen, if you have time, I'm going to go downtown to check out the area. I'd like to get his truck home."

"Yeah, I figured you would. I can be at your place in about an hour."

"Yeah. Thanks, Joe."

I hung up the phone and took a minute to look around our bedroom. Methos had been gone almost three days. Christmas was just two days away, and I had every intention of having him back where he belongs before then. Wedding bands. Damn!

I pulled out some clothes and headed for the shower. Methos, you never cease to surprise me. I had wanted a commitment with him for as long as I could remember, but I was afraid that I would scare him off. So, I always held my feelings in check, and tried to make sure he knew how much I loved him.

I guess he does know. I was grinning like a loon now. Which is not a smart thing to do when you're standing butt naked under a streaming hot shower. I sputtered and spit as the water went into my mouth, and I chuckled to myself.

I was dressed and ready in record time. The only thing I had to do now was sit and drink a cup of coffee and wait for Joe. I found myself wandering around the house, a cup of coffee in my hand, and looking at his things. Our things.

Who would ever have thought that Duncan MacLeod would fall in love with a man? It's not that I'd never had sex with a man before. I have. But I love women. To the point of fault according to both Tessa and Methos. I love the way they smell and feel. I love the way it feels when a woman wraps her soft legs around my waist when I sink into her wet heat. I love a woman's voice, her laugh. I love women. Period.

So why am I in love with a five-thousand-year old man?

I made my way back to the living room, sat down on the couch and reached for my wallet to pull out his picture.

No, there was nothing soft or feminine about this man. I looked at his smiling eyes and thought about the way the color changes depending on his mood. Brown to green and several variations in-between.

Even in this picture he had that little half smirk that always made me think he knew something the rest of us didn't. That mouth. God, that mouth. That wicked, sweet and talented mouth.

Yes, kissing Methos was very different from kissing a woman. He was much more forceful for one thing. Oh, he could be tender as well, but when he was aroused, there was no stopping that mouth. There is just something so intoxicating about the feel of his lips on mine, the stubble from his cheek rasping against my own.

I wet dry lips and looked down at his picture again. I grinned. That nose. I could still see the glare I always received when I kissed his nose.

Dammit, Methos. Where are you, love? I leaned back and closed my eyes as if the simple act of meditation could bring me the answer. If I tried really hard, I could smell his aftershave. Completely different than my own, but very masculine. More woodsy than spicy. Dark and mysterious, just like the man himself.

I could see him right there, his memory so close to the surface I could reach out and touch him. Touch. God, his touch. Those long fingers, the way he caresses me. No one touches me the way Methos does. Not even Tessa came close and I loved her dearly. I don't know if it's just because he's a man or if it's because he has thousands of years of experience, but when he wraps his fingers around my cock, I nearly lose my mind from pleasure.

Methos doesn't hold back anything in or out of bed. He goes to a lot of lengths to appear weak and unobtrusive. But it's all a bunch of crap. He's one of the most dangerous bastards I've ever known. And we've had some explosive confrontations. Nothing like the arguments Tessa and I had when she was upset with me. I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but Methos and I have actually come to fists.

It's not anything either of us can seem to control. We're both just so bullheaded. When we get angry we lash out. That's when I see the real Methos; the man who survived all those years. His eyes gleam dark green when he grabs hold of me and slings me up against the wall, his nostrils flaring when he gets in my face and tells me how much I've pissed him off.

Yes, it gets violent sometimes, and I know it's because we're both male, and we know we're safe with each other. Blades are never drawn between us and never will be. And, if our fights get slightly out of hand on occasion, the loving afterwards more than makes up for it.

That's where I really love to feel his strength. I love to feel his strong body under mine, know that he's giving me all that he is willingly. All that strength and power to hold and love and take. And cherish.

No, there are no soft curves or smooth legs to wrap around me. But his skin is soft, even if it does ripple over defined muscles. His chest may be hard, but I wouldn't trade soft breasts for the deep moans vibrating against my mouth when I suck on his sensitive nipples. I wouldn't trade anything for the feel of his strong legs when they wrap around me as I sink deeply inside him.

Yes, it is different, the feel of a man's anus instead of a woman's vagina. Hotter. Tighter. He holds onto me, crushes me to him and takes as hard and fast as I need to take him. He doesn't let me go until we're both shaking and spent from our release. Nothing scares him. He's always there, hot and ready when I need him. He understands my need just as I understand his.

Like and not; his strength and warmth and love. And if I didn't find him and soon, I was going to lose my mind with worry.

As if on cue, I heard a knock at the door. Getting up, I slid Methos' picture back into my wallet and headed for the door.

It was Joe. We looked at each other, no words necessary for our common goal. We had to find out what happened to the world's oldest man.

****

**~~~~~~**

I was walking around my small prison, trying to ease my body away from the fatigue threatening to consume me. I had been in here at least three days, maybe four. I don't know. I tried to keep track by the light filtering through the one filthy window. I haven't had anything to eat since I was brought here. And very damn little to drink. Annoseke would bring me small sips of water occasionally. Just enough to wet my lips, but never enough to quench my thirst. I was becoming terribly dehydrated, and if I didn't do something soon, I knew I would never be able to defend myself when he handed me my sword.

Fuck! Why did he even bother with a challenge? My blood sugar had dropped dangerously low. If I were mortal I would be in much worse shape, close to death, if not dead already. As it happened, I was getting incredibly weak, hence the forced exercise.

Dammit, who was I kidding? He was going to kill me. And he was going to capture Duncan and put him through the same hell. If someone didn't stop him, that is. I had already spent countless hours trying to figure out a way to escape. But as far as I could tell, it was useless. My concrete room was quite secure.

I finally tired to the point of collapse and sat down in a corner away from the door. At least he had turned up the heat sometime this morning and I was no longer freezing. That was bloody little comfort when I felt so helpless.

 _You'd better catch Duncan before he finds you, you little prick,_ I thought to myself.

When I closed my eyes I could almost hear him laughing. I could almost see those big, brown, puppy dog eyes when he was trying to talk me into something. Duncan ....

**~*~*~**

Duncan bounded out of bed naked and dashed out of the room.

"Hey, where are you going?" I called to his retreating form.

"Just a minute," he called back. At least I think that's what he said since he was laughing as he said it.

I grinned to myself, crossed my arms over my chest, and waited. Sure enough, in a minute he returned, his glorious sex bobbing full and ready in front of him. And he was holding a bottle of Hershey's chocolate sauce. What the fuck?

"MacLeod?" Without a word, he bounced back on the bed and yanked off my covers. I laughed. "What are you doing?"

Leaning over, he kissed me lightly on the lips, then waggled the bottle of chocolate sauce in front of my face. "Remember this?"

"Yes," I answered him warily. "It's the chocolate sauce you got for the ice cream you forgot to buy."

"No." He leaned over and nipped me playfully on my nipple before sitting up with an impish grin. "You said I bought it for ice cream. I just never corrected you."

"Then why did you buy it?" Why did I always set myself up for these things, I wondered, even as I said it.

"Because I like chocolate sauce," he murmured and snapped open the top. "I like it here ...." He poured a dollop on my nipple, then leaned down and began to lap it up.

My nipple stiffened under the flicking onslaught of his tongue and I moaned, despite myself.

He cleansed my nipple completely of chocolate before sitting up to smile at me. I couldn't help but snicker because he looked like a naughty boy with his big grin and chocolate covered mouth.

"And here ...." He poured another dollop on the other nipple and dipped his head to give it the same treatment. When he began to suck on the hardening nub, I was no longer laughing. He might be naughty, but this was no boy. The mouth torturing my nipples definitely belonged to a man.

My cock was rock hard by the time he finished with my nipples. I was panting when he poured a line of chocolate sauce down my stomach to my navel. His wicked tongue followed the sauce and he began to lap and nip at my skin until he reached my pubic hair. My hips were flexing of their own volition as he stopped to spend some quality time at my navel, flicking his tongue in and out until I thought I would go mad.

He finally stopped and looked up when my cock tapped against his chin.

He paused to stroke the underside of my cock with the palm of his hand. "Ah, now this is the best part of my Methos-sickle."

_Methos-sickle?_

Fuck. He was pouring chocolate sauce down my cock. His mouth was descending and ... FUCK!

He started with a slow licking around the head of my cock, cleaning up the chocolate one little lap at a time. Just when I thought I would go mad, he took my entire length into his mouth and began to suck.

His mouth was a hot wet vacuum, enclosing me, sucking me until I was right on the brink of orgasm, ready to come. And then he -- stopped! My hips froze in mid-thrust as I glared at him in disbelief.

"What the fuck are you doing, MacLeod? Get back down there." I growled at him in my most menacing voice.

His laughter was not comforting. "Not until I finish having my dessert." If all the blood hadn't been between my legs, I probably would have gotten up and killed him.

Knowing he was safe -- for the moment -- he didn't wait for me to respond. Instead, he bent my legs at the knees and pushed them up towards my chest. I felt something cool hit my anus and my dick got impossibly harder.

Fuck. His tongue flicked at my hole, lapping up the sauce. Over and over, around and inside as far as he could go with the tip of his tongue. Then he was moving upward, lapping at my balls until he had each one bathed by his chocolate coated tongue.

By the time he returned to my cock I was gone, lost in the feel of his mouth; so good, the wet suction as he loved me. Then I was coming, every muscle in my body locked in readiness for the orgasm surging through my loins. He swallowed, took every drop as I spurted inside his mouth, my body quivering under his hands as he held on tight and brought me back down.

The look on his face was priceless when he let me go, his mouth covered with chocolate and grinning like a loon.

God, but I love this man.

I felt a pressure against my hip and looked down. His sex was straining between his legs, the head almost crimson from his sustained arousal. Well, there was only one thing to do about it then. I reached for the chocolate sauce.

**~*~*~**

I groaned and opened my eyes. No bed, no chocolate sauce and no Duncan. I felt a familiar pressure between my legs and looked down at my groin. My cock head was glaring at me accusingly as if I were to blame for its state.

"He's not here so you might as well lie down and behave," I grumbled.

Sweet Mary. I was talking to my dick now. I had to get out of here.

****

**~~~~~~**

I slammed the front door behind me, and glared at the phone in disgust. Not one word from Joe and I was so angry I could hardly contain myself. Why was it that the Hunters could track down and kill any Immortal they wanted, but the Watchers couldn't find one snarky, sexy, old Immortal? It had been days since he disappeared, and something deep inside warned me that our time was quickly running out.

The phone rang and I leapt up from the couch to answer it. "MacLeod."

"Mac, it's Joe. I think we've found something, buddy."

"What is it, Joe?

"Okay, here's what we got. I finally got in touch with Annoseke's Watcher, Julie. It seems that he's been holed up at the old warehouse district for a couple of weeks. Now here's the interesting part. He's traveling with a mortal. Julie's certain he's taken heads recently, but she's never seen him issue a challenge or actually witness a fight."

I felt the bile rise up in my throat and swallowed it down with effort. Another mortal interfering in the Game. I had to make an effort to keep my anger in check. It wasn't Joe's fault this was happening again. But if I found out any other Watchers were involved, none of them would be safe from me.

"Mac?" The concern in Joe's voice brought me back to the matter at hand. I'm sure he knew what I was thinking. 

I cleared my throat roughly. "I'm here, Joe. Do we know anything about this mortal staying with Annoseke?"

"Is she a Watcher, you mean?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I mean," I snapped at him.

"Not that we know of, Mac. Just hang on for me a little longer, buddy. Okay? I don't think Annoseke has taken his head yet. According to Julie, he hasn't left the district since he arrived, and that's not something he could hide. We're talking about a five-thousand-year old quickening here."

"I know what we're talking about, Joe. Where is he?" If my voice came out rougher than I intended, I really didn't care. I knew Joe understood.

"He was seen at the last warehouse on North Elm Street. Give me about thirty minutes before you leave. Can you do that?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Joe?" I was beginning to yell. It's a damn good thing an Immortal doesn't have to worry about having a stroke, because my blood pressure was rising. "He's already been there for days. I have no intention of letting him stay a minute longer than he has to."

"What about Annoseke?"

"Annoseke's already a dead man."

"Mac, listen to me. I know you want to charge in and take the bastard down. But, you can't do that. Not if you want Methos out alive."

I was already reaching for my coat and checking the placement of my katana. "What do you expect me to do? Sit back and wait? That's not who I am."

"I know that, Mac. And that's exactly what's going to get the both of you killed. Start thinking like Methos. Annoseke isn't playing by the rules. You can't either if you want to stay alive."

"I won't break the rules, Dawson. He gets a fair challenge."

"I know that, and so does he. But he isn't alone. He has someone with him. Someone you can't feel coming. But Annoseke can feel you. Give me thirty minutes, Mac. That's all I ask. They won't be looking for me and I'll take care of the wild card for you."

Dammit, Dawson. He was right and I knew it. I rubbed at the tension building at the bridge of my nose and sighed deeply into the phone. "All right, Joe. Thirty minutes. But that's all. Understood?"

"Got it, man. I'll be watching, and I'll give you a signal if it's all clear for you to go in after the bastard."

"Yeah. Later." I hung up the phone and glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes. It felt like a lifetime.

****

**~~~~~~**

I pulled up half a block away from the warehouse where Annoseke was hiding. As much as I hated to admit it, Joe was right. I had to start thinking smarter. Not knowing if Methos was dead or alive, had me too off balance. I had to start thinking like Annoseke. And like Methos. I had barely cut off the engine when my cell rang. I pulled it out of my coat pocket and checked the number. Joe.

"Yeah."

"It's done. You're all clear."

I smiled in spite of myself. "Thanks."

I walked the rest of the way to the warehouse. I was almost to the back of the building when I felt it. Two distinct immortal buzzes. One was incredibly weak and I suspected it belonged to my lover. Annoseke hadn't kidnapped Methos to make sure he stayed in the peak of health, after all. Turning, I scanned the area, looking for a trap, knowing Annoseke would probably be expecting me sooner or later.

All the streetlights were out, and it was pitch dark as I made my way around the building looking for a way in. I stumbled against something lying on the walkway leading to the front of the warehouse, and I bent down, aiming my flashlight to see what it was. What I found was a young woman -- a very dead young woman, her eyes open and unseeing, her neck twisted in an unnatural angle. I directed the light to the inside of her wrists. Nothing. So she wasn't a Watcher, I mused. Still, I had no doubt this was the mortal who'd been helping Annoseke.

Turning off my light, I proceeded to the front door, one hand on the hilt of my Katana. I was unsurprised when it swung open before I reached for the handle. A tall black man stood framed in the doorway, his sword held ready in front of him. I pulled out my katana and swung it up in an arc.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"I'm Patrick Annoseke. At your service." He bent his head in a mock bow as he addressed me with a thick, rich accent.

"You are dead," I corrected him, smiling wickedly when I saw his eyes dart around, searching the darkness. "Looking for someone? I hate to tell you, but you're all alone. Just you and me, Annoseke. Now!" I growled the last word and swung my sword.

****

**~~~~~~**

I woke up with a start. It seemed as if the world was coming down around me. The entire building was rumbling as things crashed to the floor outside my room. Lightning was flashing and crackling outside my tiny window as the winds shook the pane.

I knew the signs of a quickening, and it didn't take a lot of deduction to figure out who the other Immortal was. I had woken only moments earlier when I felt his presence. But, I had also been near delirium most of the day, and I could no longer tell where my dreams ended and my reality began. So, I had put it off to another Duncan induced dream and gone happily back to sleep.

Only it hadn't been a dream. Duncan was really here. The only question now was: who won?

The silence in the aftermath was more disturbing than the quickening itself. There was a stillness in the atmosphere that almost took my breath away. It seemed an interminable time before I heard a key rattling in the metal lock of my door. Annoseke had turned the heat off once again and I was huddled in a corner, shivering. I tensed, not knowing who would be walking into my prison. If it was Annoseke, would he now challenge me? If Duncan was dead, did I care?

The door creaked open and he stood there, tall and menacing, his dark clothes torn and streaked with blood, his long hair falling down around his face. His eyes were looking at me with so much love and so much concern that I nearly fell apart from the intensity of it. He was at my side in an instant, his strong, warm arms wrapping around me protectively. I clung to him, sobbing with relief as he rocked me in his arms and smoothed back my filthy hair.

It was finally over.

****

**~~~~~~**

I turned over in bed and wrapped my arms around my lover. He was heavy and warm against me and I cuddled closer to kiss his sleep-tousled hair. I lay there for long minutes afterward, but my mind was working overtime, pushing me out of sleep, so I opened my eyes and gave into the inevitable.

I studied the man in my arms and thought back to the last couple of days. I had never been so relieved when I opened that door and found him huddled in the corner. And angry. I swear, if I hadn't already killed Annoseke, I would have gone after him again. Only this time, I would have made him suffer for what he'd done.

It didn't take long for Methos to start bouncing back, thanks to immortal healing. If he was still a little weak and somewhat the worse for wear, I knew he would be well soon. In the meantime, if I hovered a little too much, I knew he would understand.

He had insisted on celebrating Christmas the night before as if nothing had happened. We even had Joe over for dinner. Although Methos made an attempt to talk and enjoy the evening, he still appeared jumpy and nervous. I had simply put it off to him being overly tired and still traumatized from his ordeal. When he spilled his glass of wine for the second time, Joe excused himself and begged off the rest of the evening, knowing my lover was probably at the end of his energy stores.

It would take time for him to completely heal. Oh, his body would recuperate quickly enough. But, even for Immortals, it takes time for the mind and soul to mend. 

It was later, sitting beside the fire while the Christmas tree lights flickered in front of us, that it became clear that something specific was bothering him. I would never tell him this, but it was almost comical the way he sat beside me in his boxers and black silk robe, nervously picking at the belt while he tried to talk to me. I finally had to take the belt out of his hands and hold them still to make him look at me.

He looked up with those wide innocent eyes, the look that I never believe for an instant, and reached into his robe pocket. I tried to feign surprise when he brought out the ring box. He was obviously nervous -- because he was searching for the right words, or because of everything he'd been through the past few days? Most likely, both. He didn't know it, but anything he said would have been perfect. Even saying nothing at all would have meant everything to me.

That's one of the things that continues to surprise me about him. For all his bluster, for all the darkness he's had to overcome, lies a gentle heart, so capable of love and tenderness that he puts me to shame. Who is this man who makes and remakes me every time he smiles at me? Strong enough to catch me when I fall into my own darkness? Yet tender enough to cry in my arms?

Who are you, love?

Now, lying together as he slept, I held him tightly in my arms. The truth is that it didn't matter. I know who he is in my heart.

The answer is always there whispering to me. Every time I wake beside him, see his smile, hear his laugh. Every time he touches me, makes love to me. And, yes, even when we fight, and the loving makes it right again.

It's a whisper that keeps me strong and makes me whole.

Who is he? My everything. My strength, my friend, my lover.

 

~Finis~

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
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**Author's Note:**

> Edited March 26, 2017


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